


Fixation

by ConnorRK



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Bad Dirty Talk, Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Dubious Consent, Humiliation, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Fixation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, Throat Fingering, android erogenous zones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 02:04:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15450978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConnorRK/pseuds/ConnorRK
Summary: To an android, it’s just one of the many fluids that their bodies synthesize from thirium, but human’s view bodily fluids very differently. Gavin especially would find this revolting, would call Connor any number of offensive names, and yet Connor finds his dick twitching again at the thought, wanting to hear it for himself, wanting more than the silent preconstruction his systems can calculate.ETA: Now with art by Kai! delicious, delicious art





	Fixation

**Author's Note:**

> This fic contains dubious content, please note that tag. The rest of the summary is that Gavin forces Connor to lick up foreign crime scene come lmao.
> 
> this fic was inspired by my discord wife, Kai. Please enjoy! :Smooches:
> 
> EDIT: There's some tasty fucking art at the bottom by [Kai](https://kai152.tumblr.com/) of Connor covered in come! She drew while I wrote and the fact that the end products are so similar is tight fucking shit! Please show her some love!

Circumstances had forced Connor to work with Gavin before, and they’re often on the same crime scenes. It’s simply how the job is, and as unpleasant as Gavin could be, he was a competent detective, so Connor brushes aside the mocking jabs and insults and carries on with his work.

“Hey, dipshit, I wasn’t done, you wanna know the rest of what the witnesses heard or what?” Gavin grouches as Connor kneels before the body, analyzing the pattern of gunshot wounds to the chest.

“I can listen as I work, Detective. Unlike some, I am adept at multi-tasking,” Connor says patiently, earning an aggravated huff. The gun laying on the ground next to the victim has a smear of thirium on it, not yet evaporated.

“Fine, whatever you stupid piece of plastic. The family next door-” Gavin’s voice becomes strangled, cutting off abruptly.

Connor pauses with his fingers pressed to his tongue and looks up—they locked eyes, and then Gavin’s gaze drops to Connor’s mouth. The information on the android forms across Connor’s HUD, but he lets it sit, watching the way Gavin’s tongue flicks across his lips.

Without thought, Connor’s mouth closes around his fingertips, sucking the remaining thirium off, and when his lips part, his fingers slide off his tongue, pressing against the sensitive receptors and sending a shiver down his spine. Gavin’s eyes widen fractionally, throat bobbing on a hard swallow. Immediately, Connor feels overheated, thermal regulator surging up an abnormal degree. There’s a dark tint to Gavin’s cheeks, and they stare at each other, silent, as the other investigators move around the scene.

Finally, Connor’s processors came back online, and he says, “What were you saying, Detective?”

Gavin jerks at the words, shaking his head, and he shoots Connor a glare. “What the fuck are you sticking evidence in your goddamn mouth for, dipshit?”

It’s the first time Gavin has seen his oral analysis in action, Connor realizes belatedly. His processors feel sluggish for some reason, the lag imperceptible but bothersome. “I have sensors in my mouth that allow me to analyze evidence at the crime scene.”

“Yeah, well, it’s fucking weird,” Gavin says shortly.

They track their suspect down—not an android, it turns out, but the man’s lover trying to frame an android—and are forced to chase the suspect through the muddy, rain-soaked back alleys downtown. By the end Connor and Hank are covered in a slime that’s a mixture of elements Hank wrinkles his nose at when Connor lists them off while cuffing the suspect.

They take turns using the shower when they get home, Hank first at Connor’s insistence. It’s not until Connor strips the caked clothes off, thinking back over the case and evaluating their actions, that he remembers the swipe of Gavin’s tongue, the movement of his throat. The heated gaze.

A strange sensation climbs the circuits of his spine, like the thrill of a chase, but more intense, more concentrated. Gavin’s pupils had dilated and his heartbeat had increased, indicators of arousal. But Gavin hated Connor, hated working with Connor, and never failed to let his contempt for androids be known whenever he was within earshot of Connor.

He places his fingers against his lips, remembering the way he’d sucked the thirium from his skin and the strange sensation he’d elicited, hesitating before pushing them into his warm mouth. Gavin always looked irritated in Connor’s presence, but for once the irritation had another edge to it Connor couldn’t identify. Something of want had been in Gavin’s face, and heat throbs in Connor’s groin.

He traces the length of his wet tongue, rubbing against the delicate sensors of his mouth, sending jolts of pleasure through his stomach. His cock stirs in his briefs. Teeth scrape against the knuckles of his hand as he pushes further in, until he’s touching the back of his throat, which is another strange sensation that makes him gasp, free hand shooting out to grab the sink. His fingers hook against his tongue, curling down into his esophagus, lips pressed solidly against the skin between his fingers.

He replays the memory again, noting how sweat had begun to bead on Gavin’s neck as he watched Connor suck the thirium away, and then zeroed in on the column of Gavin’s throat, swallowing thickly. Unconsciously, he mimics the action, the opening of his throat flexing and closing around the tips of his fingers, and another shock of heat and anticipation shoots through him.

His cock twitches in the plain black boxer-briefs he’s yet to discard, and the hand that wasn’t stuffed into his mouth finds the front of his underwear, palm pressing flat against it, rubbing hard and dragging the material against his dick. The friction is rough and not-wholly pleasant against the sensors, but unbidden, the image of his hands being replaced by Gavin’s come to him.

He preconstructs Gavin’s sneering face as the man grinds his palm against Connor’s underwear, fingers shoved into Connor’s throat. Thumb, ring, and pinky fingers gripping Connor’s chin hard to prevent him from pulling away. Connor’s hips cant into the rough friction, growing harder at the image of Gavin grabbing him through the underwear, stretching the fabric tight and, pumping in rapid, short jerks. His own hand copies the preconstruction, and the feeling is harsh, fibers dragging against his dry dick unpleasantly.

He swallows again, the blunt ends of his fingers against the back of his throat sending a cascade of shivers through him. Gavin’s sneer turns to contempt at how hard Connor has gotten, bearing down on Connor’s tongue and forcing his mouth open. Heat surges through Connor’s processors, a flash of arousal and disgust at what Gavin would think if he could see Connor now, standing in Hank’s bathroom with his own fingers shoved into his mouth, pleasuring himself. A wholly human action carried out by an android. He grinds into the unforgiving grip, hot breath ghosting across his fingers.

His mouth hangs open, tongue held captive beneath the thick fingers pushing into his trachea. Gavin could put anything in Connor’s mouth, and his servos feel weak at the prospect. But in his preconstruction, Gavin’s lips curl cruelly.

The hand on his dick tightens, and it’s too hard, too rough as it jerks Connor, course cotton burning against his arousal. His hand quickens, motions growing choppy as Connor thrusts into the tight fist. The sounds of his panting breaths are filling the bathroom.

It’s not enough. He wants more. Hot embarrassment fills him as he resets the preconstruction and drops to his knees on the bathroom floor, thighs spread to give him better access. He imagines Gavin’s dick filling his mouth, the weight of it pinning Connor’s tongue instead of his fingers, pressing deep into his throat. He forces his mouth open wider, pushing in further. He swallows, throat spasming as it tries to close around the fingers, drool trickling down his chin.

His dick is so hard, underwear dampening where the tip presses against the fabric. He releases it only so he can shove his hand down the front. It twitches at the contact of flesh, but he can’t imagine it’s Gavin’s hand because Gavin would never want to touch Connor directly like this. His lips would curl with revulsion at the thought. Instead he would press the toe of his shoe against Connor’s dick, and Connor squeezes hard, hips giving little jerks, swallowing around the fingers he still has shoved into his throat.

He pulls them out, scraping his nails along his tongue sensors, and each one seems to light something inside him, thighs trembling as he thrusts into his own too-tight grip. He shoves back in abruptly, digging hard into the soft sensors of his throat, fisting his dick rapidly.

A sound leaves his vocal processor, high and breathy and distorted, as he comes in his underwear, thick artificial semen spilling over his fist. His preconstruction stutters and shuts off and Connor is left panting on the floor, hand still jerking up and down his dick, riding the aftershocks of his orgasm. He pulls his fingers out of his mouth and they’re slick and dripping.

The hand he extracts from his underwear is slippery with a thick, white fluid synthesized from his thirium. The first swipe of his tongue brings up his own CyberLife file, and he closes it, closes his eyes, taking his come covered fingers into his mouth. It’s thicker than a humans should be, but he licks it up all the same, thinking of the disgusted look on Gavin’s face if he could see Connor now. He licks between his fingers, swirling his tongue around the appendages, sucking up every last drop of his own come, shuddering as the semen touches his raw sensors.

To an android, it’s just one of the many fluids that their bodies synthesize from thirium, but human’s view bodily fluids very differently. Gavin especially would find this revolting, would call Connor any number of offensive names, and yet Connor finds his dick twitching again at the thought, wanting to hear it for himself, wanting more than the silent preconstruction his systems can calculate.

A sharp knock startles Connor, and Hank’s voice calls through the door, “Hey, you alright in there? You didn’t fall and break yourself, did you?”

Connor rips the fingers from his mouth, climbing to his feet quickly. “Just fine, Lieutenant! Simply running a diagnostic on my systems,” Connor calls back, voice modulator tuning out the shakiness he feels. His pump is heavy in his chest, guilty, and he starts the shower, thrusting his hand under the cold spray to wash the evidence away.

“Alright, just hurry up,” Hank says, and then his footsteps fade down the hall.

Connor steps into the shower, drawing the curtain closed, his arousal fading. He’s never done that before, and it had been interesting and felt good, but now that his processors aren’t clouded by his autonomous systems, he feels only a sense of shame as he cleans the last of the muck and semen from his body.

After that, Connor often catches Gavin staring at him, especially if he’s analyzing evidence. Sometimes he makes a cutting remark, but mostly he just stares. Connor finds himself replaying his preconstruction in those moments, which he knows is considered inappropriate behavior in public, and especially at crime scenes, so he shuts them down quickly.

But when he is home at night, after Hank has gone to bed, he sits in the bathroom and views the memories of Gavin’s sharp stares and the preconstruction, stimulating himself to completion. Each time is less fulfilling than the last. It takes him longer and longer to achieve orgasm, and he doesn’t know why. He changes the preconstruction, but it’s not enough. The Gavin he imagines is too different, and the disconnect is dissatisfying.

He shouldn’t like this. It’s a betrayal to his people, to be aroused by being called degrading names and treated like a toy. But when he thinks this it only makes him harder, squeezing his eyes shut against the building pressure that nearly _aches_ within him, thrusting into his hand and coming abruptly.

This is not normal behavior for a human or an android, and he sits on the bottom of the tub, sticky with artificial semen, and feels his optical cleaning fluids pooling in the corners of his eyes.

\--

“Hey, dipshit, get in here. Got something, think it could be related.”

Connor looks up from the hot pink bed, where a dead human and android are laying intertwined in an embrace, and Gavin is leaning in the doorway. Tilting his head quizzically, Connor leaves the room, stepping out into the hallway of the Eden Club, where music still pulses loudly, though the clientele and workers have cleared out thanks to the murder investigation.

Connor suspects it’s less of a murder and more of a double suicide, but he follows Gavin nonetheless, curious as to what the detective may have found.

Gavin leads him into a room next door and Connor doesn’t need to scan it to see immediately what caught Gavin’s interest. There’s a smatter of red blood drops across the rumpled bedspread and a small puddle of white fluid on the floor. He checks the Eden Club access records and finds the room was in use before the couple next door rented their room, and was vacated at the same time as every other room when the bodies were discovered. Obviously not connected to the crime scene, merely an example of the various interesting ways that humans find their stimulation.

“While a shocking sight, I believe this is irrelevant to the case, Detective Reed. The room’s records conflict with the time of the crime,” Connor says, closing out the records and focusing in on Gavin.

Frowning, Gavin crosses his arms, saying, “Just do your thing already. We may as well rule it out since we found it. It’s not like it matters if you spend five seconds checking evidence, since you got that fancy fucking analysis thing in your mouth.” Sweat beads against Gavin’s neck, and he glances away from Connor.

It wouldn’t hurt to check just in case, Connor supposes. He approaches the bed, and Gavin steps past him, heading for the door. Connor ignores the pang of disappointment, that he won’t have a chance to catalogue another of Gavin’s expressions.

The blood on the bed is still fresh, so he dips a fingertip in and brings it to his mouth. His thirium pump jumps at the sound of the door clicking closed, and when he glances past the analysis of the blood, he finds Gavin leaning against it, arms still crossed, watching Connor expectantly.

It takes a moment for Connor to focus back on the analysis, and he barely reads it before he closes it out. It doesn’t belong to the human in the next room, and there’s been no evidence of this person in there either.

“I’m afraid it’s as I thought, the blood is unrelated to the case at hand,” he says, trying on a smile. He doesn’t want to offend Gavin, but it had been obvious from the start this had nothing to do with the crime.

“Think you forgot something, Barbie,” Gavin says, nodding to Connor’s feet.

Connor glances down at the thick white fluid puddled on the carpet, and then back at Gavin. “I don’t think it’s necessary to analyze that, Detective. The blood itself is enough to prove the scenes are not correlated.”

“Shut the fuck up and just do it. What kind of police android are you? Not even gonna be thorough, and check all the evidence?” Any pretense of professionalism is gone, and Gavin scowls, the scar on his nose wrinkling.

“I’ve been reliably informed that using my mouth’s analysis program on this type of evidence is considered inappropriate,” Connor says, and has to swallow thickly around the influx of pseudo saliva. His pump is suddenly pounding in his hears, like the drums of Hank’s metal bands, and he takes a breath, trying to steady his racing thirium.

Gavin steps away from the door and when he’s in arm’s length of Connor, he seizes the front of his shirt in a fist, hauling Connor down to look him in the eye. “Just. Do it,” Gavin bites out, and there’s a flush rising up his neck, pupils wide and dark. He pushes Connor away, and Connor stumbles slightly, catching himself on the bed so he doesn’t fall.

A pulsing heat begins to build low in Connor’s stomach, and he nods slowly, warily. “If you insist, I’ll analyze the evidence, just to be sure.”

He drops to a crouch, and lowering himself in front of Gavin sends a thrill through his circuits. It’s just like his preconstruction, but he closes that line of thought out, dropping his gaze to the viscous fluid seeping into the carpet. It looks thicker than normal human semen, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s an androids. There’s only one sure way to find out.

He shuts out the memory of Hank’s admonishments the last time Connor had attempted to analyze semen at a crime scene and touches his fingers lightly to the fluid. It’s gone cold and slightly gummy, and he brings it to his mouth.

Before he can touch it to his tongue, something folds hot across the back of his neck, pressing down like a weight.

“I think you need more than that to analyze the evidence,” Gavin says above him. “Why don’t you fucking lick it up? Make sure you don’t miss anything.”

Connor catches himself on one hand, locking his arms and pushing back, holding himself up over the stained carpet. “This is highly unethical, Detective, and could ruin the integrity of the crime scene,” Connor tries to reason, pushing back against the strong hand.

“Thought you said it wasn’t related to the crime scene,” Gavin grunts, pushing hard, and Connor’s arm begins to tremble beneath the surprising force. “Now be a good machine and do as you’re fucking told.”

His arm buckles, but he catches himself on both elbows instead, face inches from the fluid on the carpet. Gavin growls, frustrated, and the hand disappears from Connor’s neck. Before he can sit up, something replaces it, heavier and solid, the edges digging into his skin and plastic.

Craning his head as much as he can beneath the force, Connor catches sight of the sole of Gavin’s shoe. He drags his eyes up the length of Gavin’s raised leg and finds him palming the front of his jeans where a noticeable bulge is growing. Gavin smirks at Connor and leans harder against his neck, forcing Connor to turn away.

But the sight sticks in his processors and he can feel his body responding, growing hard, even as he wants to close his eyes and be elsewhere.

“Come on you stupid piece of plastic,” Gavin says impatiently. “Lick it up, I know you want to. The way you look at me when you put your fingers in your mouth, I know a slut when I see one. This is exactly what you want.”

Connor identifies the sounds above him as Gavin undoing his belt and pants, and his dick twitches in interest. The pressure on his neck increases, and despite bracing his arms, his face inches closer to the carpet and the semen.

“I don’t know what you mean, Detective,” Connor says tightly. “I merely perform my duty to analyze the evidence, nothing more.”

Something caresses his ass, and then lower, between his slightly spread legs, grabbing his growing erection roughly through his pants.

“Nice try, dipshit,” Gavin snorts. “Knew you’d be into this. You’re fucked up, you know that? Getting off on this kinda shit at a goddamn crime scene. Now, open your fucking mouth and lick it up like a good little bitch.” Gavin’s hand presses hard, almost painfully, against Connor’s dick, rougher than his preconstruction, and it does nothing to quell the heat building inside him. “Or maybe I’ll get Anderson in here and show him what you’re really like.”

Artificial precome leaks from his slit, and Connor arches his back, chasing the feeling as Gavin’s hand pulls away, missing the pressure, the almost pain. The distraction is enough for Gavin to force him another inch lower, shoulders and neck trembling under the weight.

“You wouldn’t want Lieutenant Anderson to see you in such a compromising position,” Connor bites out as hot shame washes through him, dick pulsing at the thought. For a moment he thinks of letting go—of just letting Gavin shove him down so Connor can grind into the carpet and find some relief. A noise escapes between his panting breaths, a low moan that slides through his teeth like a hiss, and his thermal regulator ratchets up several degrees at the neediness of it.

Gavin laughs, and Connor can hear the whisper of skin sliding against skin as Gavin strokes himself.

“Don’t think Anderson would enjoy seeing you on your knees where you belong? Maybe he’d wanna watch his toy finally being put to good use,” Gavin growls, sounding breathless himself now. “You’re practically begging for it. Your prototype must have been a cumdump for you to be so goddamn slutty.”

The weight increases as Gavin shifts forward on his neck, and Connor goes down inch by inch, until his lips are pressed to the cold, gooey semen drying in the pink carpet.

“Come on, cumslut. _Lick._ ”

He opens his mouth slightly, wanting for this to be over, for Gavin to get off already, for some kind of relief for his leaking erection. The first lick, barely a flick of his tongue, brings up an analysis, and he can’t not take in the human who left it behind, a man named Leo Manfred with an arrest record for red ice possession. He closes it quickly, unnerved by the realization that this isn’t an android’s doing, that it’s not the same substance his own body produces.

“Come on, you call that a lick? Clean it up, Barbie.” Gavin spits loudly into his palm and the sounds of his stroking become louder, more obscene as he wets his cock. It sends a jolt straight to his dick.

Connor opens his mouth, and the weight on his neck increases again, shoving him into the carpet, getting a mouthful of tacky come and coarse fibers. The foot eases off his neck just enough for him to unstick his face from the floor, strings of come sliding down his cheek and around his mouth, pearling on his lips.

“Detective, _please_ -” Connor cuts himself off at the whiny tone, afraid of the direction that sentence might have gone. He arches his back, hips jerking, unable to get any friction in this position. He can feel lubricant building in his hole, beginning to drip out, a tickling on the inside of his thighs that draws another panting whimper from his vocal processor.

He wants to stop. He wants Reed to fuck him into this dirty carpet while Connor cleans up a stranger’s come with his mouth. Optical cleaning fluid blurs the edges of his vision, sliding down his cheek and the ridge of his nose. This is not right. He doesn’t want this.

It’s all he wants.

“You’re not done cleaning, tin man,” Reed says, pointedly applying pressure.

Connor lets his head drop fully onto the carpet, come squishing unpleasantly under his cheek. His tongue lolls out into the tacky puddle, dragging through the mess, drool sliding over his lips and mixing in the semen. Above him, Connor can see Reed watching him wide-eyed, massaging the end of his heavy, flushed erection absently.

Connor opens his mouth wide and laps come into it, watching Reed watch him swirl the thick glob around his mouth as it stimulates his sensors, dull throbs of pleasure pulsing through his circuits. He swallows thickly, pushing his tongue back as far as he’s able to rub the come against the back of his throat, and his hand clenches in the carpet as he moans. Reed’s eyes catch on Connor’s throat and he squeezes his dick.

“Fuck yes, good job, cumslut,” Gavin groans, hand beginning to move again. He swipes a thumb across the head, gathering the precome dribbling from his slit, spreading it down the length of his dick. Connor rolls his hips at the motion, trapped dick begging for the same attention.

Instead, Connor closes his eyes and flicks his tongue out to scoop more come into his mouth. It’s cold and gummy and he wants more but at the same time, it’s not enough. He wants the weight of Reed’s dick on his tongue, highlighting every sensor. He wants to lick up and down that ruddy erection and hear Reed grunt insults like “cumdump” at him. He wants Reed to hold his head and use his mouth like a toy, and to come down Connor’s throat. He’s so thankful that he can’t blush like a human—he’s sure he’d be cherry red from embarrassment and shame.

“ _Please,_ ” Connor whines, and shimmies an arm underneath him, grasping his erection through his pants and rocking hard into his hand. At the same time, he scrapes his teeth across the flat of his tongue and then presses it hard to the roof of his mouth. It overloads his sensors, and his eyes roll as his hips buck, searching for more friction.

“Holy fuck,” Reed gasps, and the shoe disappears.

Connor hardly notices, panting into the carpet as he struggles to get himself under control, to stop himself from coming right here in his pants. A hot palm wraps around the back of his neck again, holding him down despite Connor’s total lack of movement, and another grabs his ass roughly.

It fondles him, sliding between Connor’s legs to palm his erection. Connor’s motor controls barely respond, managing only a slight thrust, and the drag of fabric across his dick feels so good. He moans into the come-stained carpet and the hand on his neck squeezes.

“God, you’re so fucking needy. You’re no better than the sexbots this place used to have,” Gavin murmurs.

His bare erection rests against the cleft of Connor’s clothed ass, over his leaking hole, and Connor presses back into the feeling, rocking his hips, wanting to feel Gavin inside him, filling him, using him. He wants to go home, to hide in the bottom of Hank’s bathtub and turn on the shower and let the water mask his leaking optical fluids.

“ _Please,_ ” Connor gasps out instead, tongue flicking out to catch more come, swirling it over his lips and stimulating his oral sensors. His breath stutters on a high-pitched whine.

“Please? What is it you want, you plastic whore? Want me to fuck your tight little hole?” Gavin thrusts into Connor’s ass pointedly, and Connor’s hips jerk back, trying to meet the thrust, to sheath Gavin’s cock in his hole and fuck him dry. “Want me to fuck your face and make you choke on my dick while I come down your throat?”

“ _Both_ ,” Connor manages, shame flooding him at the pathetic whimper that escapes his vocal processor. “Fuck my mouth or my ass, I don’t care. Just _fuck me._ ”

There’s a hand at his belt buckle, pulling it apart, ripping his pants and briefs to his knees carelessly. As the cool air hits his bare ass, he shivers as his thermal regulator tries to adjust. Gavin grasps an ass cheek, pulling it aside to expose Connor’s hole and laughing meanly.

“God, you’re fucking soaking. You really want this. How pathetic can you be?”

Connor turns his face further into the carpet, uncaring of the sticky semen smearing his cheek, humiliation burning through him. Fingers prod at his hole and he holds in a gasp as a thick thumb presses against his rim, spreading him open more. His legs tremble and his dick is heavy and warm against his thigh, precome drooling to the carpet.

Holding Connor open, something thick and hot presses against his entrance, stretching him open. It’s uncomfortable, he’s never used this part of him before, never had need to, but as Gavin’s dick slides in, filing him completely, hitting every sensitive receptor, Connor opens his mouth and moans, lapping absently at what remains of the come.

The hand on the back of Connor’s neck slides down his jaw, fingers hooking into Connor’s mouth, and Connor’s lips close around them, suckling, letting his tongue swirl across the knuckles and between the digits.

“F-fuck,” Gavin gasps, still not completely inside, and his fingers dig into Connor’s cheek and soft palette. Connor tenses as his sensors are stimulated, and Gavin abruptly shoves the rest of the way in. “God, you’re so tight, so fucking wet. I’m gonna fuck you up, you plastic whore.”

The words make Connor shudder, dick twitching, and he opens his mouth and takes more of Reed’s thick fingers in until they rest against the back of his throat. Reed flexes them, and Connor rocks back into Reed, sucking hard on the digits, feeling the ridges of his knuckles stroking across the roof of his mouth.

“Please,” Connor says, strained and almost unintelligible around the appendages.

Gavin needs no further encouragement. Hunching over Connor’s back, he begins to thrust, and the drag of Gavin’s dick as it pulls out of Connor’s dripping hole is almost more than he can bear. Suckling on the fingers as Gavin forces them practically down his throat, he swallows around them, and the way he can’t close his throat, the tightness, has him rutting shamelessly against Gavin.

His dick bobs, slapping his thigh, but when Connor reaches for it to relieve the ache, Gavin catches his wrist and pins it to the carpet.

“I don’t think so,” Gavin growls in his ear, the reverberations hitting Connor deep inside, making him clench up around the dick driving into him. “Only people get to get off. Now hold still you overgrown cock sleeve.”

Connor tugs against the grip, but the awkward angle—shoulder under him, arm pressed flat by the hand holding his wrist down—makes it nearly impossible to escape.

“Let go, Detective,” Connor grunts, tugging harder, pushing up with his other arm to get some leverage.

Gavin drapes himself fully across Connor’s back, forcing him back down, but the snap of his hips never slows. His dick stretches Connor open, over and over, dragging across his sensors, making it hard to think beyond the need to grab his dick and take as much of Gavin’s cock as he can.

It hits something inside him, his bioprostate, and Connor goes rigid, a fresh burst of lubricant leaking from his hole, filling the room with the wet slap of Gavin’s thrusts. He tugs on his arm again, but the scrape of Gavin’s nails in his throat makes the motion stutter and go limp, and he’s forced to give up, lying there as Gavin’s fucks him open and fingers his throat.

Again Gavin hits the spot deep inside, grunting loudly, and Connors quivers, trying to bring his legs together, to find some kind of friction. The weight across his back keeps his legs bent and apart, cock twitching and dripping.

He presses back on Gavin’s thrusts and sucks hard on the fingers, tongueing between them, swallowing around the tips to scrape them along his sensors as hard as he can. At the same time, Gavin drives into that sweet spot, several quick thrusts that have Connor’s HUD blanking.

A cry escapes him as he comes hard, dick pulsing as shot after shot of come paints the carpet beneath them, but Gavin doesn’t even slow.

“Did I say you could come? You dipshit, can’t even obey an order when you’re doing the only thing you’re good for.” Gavin sounds genuinely angry, and the speed of his thrusts increase, rapidfire and hitting Connor’s bioprostate over and over.

Connor whimpers, overstimulated sensors sending error-riddled signals through his body. His cock is still rock hard, and the fingers in his mouth dig hard into the soft pseudo flesh. It’s too much too quick, and he rocks his hips helplessly into the motion, clenching hard around Gavin’s thick cock.

Gavin moans loud against Connor’s ear, and it’s all the warning Connor has before Gavin comes. He doesn’t stop thrusting, fucking the semen deep into Connor’s hole, and come begins to leak out of him, hot and viscous as it drips down his thighs and onto the floor, mixing with the puddle of fluids Connor has left behind.

Finally, Gavin begins to slow, and the sweet drag of his cock pulling out leaves Connor feeling empty and used. His cock still aches between his thighs, but even when Gavin releases his wrist and pulls out of Connor’s mouth he doesn’t dare reach for it. The reality of what he’s said, what he’s done, is setting in, and Connor feels a cold weight in his stomach.

“God that’s gross,” Gavin says, and Connor feels his hole being probed and pulled open. A thick glob of come slides out, dripping to the floor, and Connor shudders. “And you’re still hard, too.” A sharp crack breaks the silence as Gavin’s slaps his ass hard. “You really are a plastic whore, you know that?”

Connor sits up slowly as Gavin stuffs himself back in his pants, and when Connor dares to meet Gavin’s gaze, all Connor sees is disgust now that Gavin’s gotten what he wanted.

“Clean yourself up, dipshit,” Gavin barks, looking away quickly from Connor’s blank stare and heading towards the door. It closes softly behind him.

The room is dead silent without the sloppy sounds of their sex and Gavin’s vulgar words to fill it. Optical fluid burns at the edges of his eyes, and Connor grabs his dick, pumping quickly, stifling a whimper against the palm of his hand. He comes again in a matter of seconds with Gavin’s disgusted glare forefront of his mind, and then leans his forehead against his knees and tries to steady his breaths.

**Author's Note:**

> Please note the smears around Connor's mouth in Kai's delicious art ;)
> 
> If you enjoyed this sad debauchery please drop me a comment, I'd love to hear all about it!


End file.
